Journey with the Devil
by AuthorUnknown01
Summary: Mason Wayne, the adopted daughter of Bruce Wayne, is taken and held captive by the loyal second-in-command who loathes her. She has a purpose in their plan, but the real question is how she'll survive. This is a Barsad/OC story, Bane had little to know role, but they don't have a character for my most beloved category.
1. Chapter 1

Mason sat in the kitchen delicately fingering her coffee cup, her mind preoccupied with a million thoughts. She sat on the barstool next to the center island, absently watching the Manor's chef prepare her father's breakfast. Mason, herself, hardly ever ate breakfast, foregoing it for coffee and water instead. The room was quiet except for the sound of sizzling bacon and eggs. She enjoyed the simplicity of the moment, the silence and the peace involved in it. The rest of her life was a whirlwind. She was constantly attending charity events, balls thrown by Gotham's elite, and extravagant parties. Quite frankly, it exhausted her, but she was essentially required to go to keep up appearances. Mason begrudgingly thought of the party occurring that night at her home that she was required to attend with her father. She let out a deep and defeated sigh. The chef heard it and turned around to offer her a reassuring smile. Her response was a pained grimace.

"And what has made my precious daughter sigh so sadly?" came a bright and masculine voice. It interrupted her train of thought and daydreams of the party. Mason instantly broke out in a smirk and turned slightly in her seat to look upon her father, Bruce Wayne.

"Just thinking about the party tonight and all the preparation I have to do for it," she responded honestly, putting a small amount of cheeriness in her voice, not wanting to burden Bruce in any way. She hated the preparation. The hair, the make-up, the clothes.

"Ohhhh, you're going to be just fine. It doesn't mean your death," he joked at her, his face in a smile looking at her adoringly. He sat down on the stool next to her and reassuringly patted her on the back. The chef put Bruce's breakfast plate in front of him, and he started eating.

They sat in companionable silence, just enjoying each other's company. It felt so natural to her now, but it didn't always. Up until eight years ago, she was an orphan living in a girls' home in a seedy part of Gotham. Mason was 16 years old with an unknown past and a grim future. She had been living there for as long as she could remember, her memories filled with only the home and the other orphans. Her future life was dim, she felt destined to just barely make it by...until Bruce Wayne visited the home and saw her.

She wasn't quite sure why he did it, he had never fully explained it to her, but he continued to visit her more and eventually adopted her. This was an odd occurrence considering her age of 16. She remembered how kind he was towards her during those visits, asking her all sorts of questions to break down the cold walls she had built for protection, just trying to get to know the real Mason. Eventually, after sometime, he flat out asked her if she would like to be adopted by him. Mason thought how cruel of a joke that was, that she had to be dreaming. She was too old to be adopted, and he was too... something... to even do that. She took some time to think it over, mull it over in her mind. She weighed the pros and cons, tried to think of how this could be a joke, but she never saw the answer. She could never figure it out. She did know a few things though. She knew she would be destitute when she aged out of the orphanage. She knew that she was absolutely starved for the attention of a caring parental figure, something she had never experienced. She thought of him during that time, realizing maybe Bruce could be that for her. And he could offer her a safe home, security, love, and a future, one much brighter than the one she had planned on. So, she said yes.

The first few months were quite an adjustment for Mason. The extravagance of Bruce's lifestyle overwhelmed her because she had never seen anything like it. And the rest was history. Bruce absolutely adored and loved her as his own daughter. Mason eventually returned the same sentiment to him. Bruce had even sent her to college overseas in France at an English-speaking university, and Mason could now speak French fluently. That was something she never even dreamed of. When she finished college, she returned home to Wayne Manor and to her father. She had spent the last two years constantly by his side, playing the part of the socialite as Bruce did, with fakeness. They both were much deeper than the social scene, but they had an image to keep up, so they did. Mason never felt like she fit into the scene, never felt like she belonged. Now, at 24, she had grown a little wiser and a little more accustomed to this lifestyle, but she refused to forget her roots and where she came from. It kept her humble, a trait Bruce had told her was honorable.

Bruce was periodically looking at Mason as she was lost in her thoughts. He examined her closely. He loved that little girl with all his heart, had from the day he met her. Not only was she one of the most interesting children he had ever met, but he saw so much potential in her. And she reminded him of what he had lost, what he could have had. He remembered Rachel everyday, had planned on being with her forever, had planned on having a family and a future with her. And when he laid his eyes on Mason, he saw the child he would have had with Rachel. They almost looked identical. It had initially drawn him to her, but Mason's personality was what sealed the deal for him. He needed purpose in his life, and she gave that to him.

Mason was broken out of her thoughts again by a British voice.

"Good morning Mr. Wayne, Ms. Mason," a warm voice floated into her ears. She smiled at him broadly.

"Morning Alfred, how are you this a.m.?" Alfred chuckled. He enjoyed her earnest way of communicating, she wasn't fake. He had immediately accepted her into the Manor and in his heart the moment she walked through the door. Her face had held apprehension, and Bruce's face held unbridled joy. Anyone who could make his master smile like that was a winner in his eyes. Mason remembered Alfred's kindness towards her and how much easier it had made her transition into her new life.

The kitchen which was previously quiet was now bustling with activity and light-hearted conversation. The three occupants jabbed and joked with each other with ease, laughter filling the room. Mason loved the mornings.

XXXX

Barsad straightened the bowtie around his neck and looked at his reflection in the dingy mirror with a fierce look of disgust. He would always obey Bane's orders until his own death, and this time was no exception. That didn't mean he had to like it, though. Tonight, Bane had ordered Barsad to go on a mission above ground to gather intel on the daughter of Bruce Wayne. Bane had plans for her and wanted to hurt Bruce, the caped crusader, where Bane knew it would hurt the most before he would destroy him slowly. It was a brilliant plan, he thought as a devious smirk appeared on his face.

He had seen pictures of the young woman, had done research on her, and simply needed to confirm it. He needed to know her mannerisms, needed to know how to break her. He heard heavy footsteps enter his room, and he stepped outside of the bathroom to greet his leader.

Bane chuckled at Barsad's obvious disgust and discomfort in his tuxedo, the sound was menacing as it left his mask and filled the air around them.

"Don't we look like a gentleman tonight," Bane's voice jovial with amusement, his eyes crinkling as he smiled and mocked Barsad openly.

"When I am anything but," a perturbed Barsad retorted.

"Well comrade, you must play the part tonight," the mechanical voice commanded.

"I won't disappoint you," Barsad's voice laced with seriousness.

"You never do," Bane replied genuinely. When he looked at Barsad, he saw complete loyalty to both the cause and to himself. He remembered the broken man he was after he lost his family. Bane had discovered that Barsad was a hired gun, a lone mercenary before joining the League. His lifestyle was what ended his family, as he simply arrived too late to save them. Bane had found him aimlessly wandering, doing random jobs. He saw skill. He took the broken man in, remolded him, trained him, and in return, Barsad would give his life for Bane's. Bane's thoughts refocused on the mission.

"Remember, friend. Go to the party, blend. Confirm our research, figure out her mannerisms, any potential training she may have. I cannot imagine that Mr. Wayne would allow his own daughter to remain defenseless in this damned city. He must have taught her something." Barsad nodded, acknowledging the order.

Bane eyed him again, then turned to exit the room silently. Barsad knew he was indicating that it was now time to go. He reluctantly followed him out of the room and down the dank hallway, meeting up with several other League members dressed similar to Barsad. Barsad was not going on the mission alone. The other men had their own orders to scout out the ins and outs of the mansion, the level of security of the perimeters. All of that would aid a potential retrieval of the girl from the mansion, if necessary.

Barsad let out an exasperated sigh, motioned to the men and walked through the sewers into the evening light of Gotham.

XXXX

To say she was a vision would have been the understatement of the year. She was pure beauty, possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, Barsad thought, trying to remain objective. In another life, he would have possibly pursued her affections, but in this life, his heart, body, and mind were cold to the affectionate emotions other people expressed so freely and fake. He was an indifferent killer, a mercenary and nothing more.

The laughter and buzz of multiple conversations amongst the guests was deafening to his ears. The sights of extravagance and grandeur burned his eyes with disgust. So opulent, he sneered. Such a waste. He greatly detested this whole social lifestyle and the people who lived it and wanted nothing more than to see it burn. He detested her. He was on a mission, though, and he couldn't fail his leader. He had, much to his distaste, to get near and remain close to the young woman throughout the night until he got what he needed.

He watched her carefully from a distance at first, analyzing her every movement. He noticed Bruce standing protectively beside her, his imposing presence and stern looks scaring away the growing group of young men itching to be near her. Occassionally, she, Mason he had learned was her name, would look up at Bruce as they greeted and chatted with the guests, love clearly written on both of their faces. Bruce would periodically pat her gently on the shoulder, as if reassuring her about something.

Someone behind him called out her name, and she looked in Barsad's direction, smiling widely at the guest. He guessed she was about 5'4. She had a petite, but toned body. She was wearing a sparkling white dress which fell onto the floor, pooling around her feet, the back of the dress plunging down to her low back. Her skin looked soft, a light and even tone. The white dress was in stark contrast to her dark hair that was pinned up in a messy up-do, her graceful neck open for the world to admire. Barsad let his eyes drift up towards her face. Even from a distance, he saw her bright big blue eyes and full pink lips. He hated her.

Mason was dainty, appearing frail and breakable almost, but her posture screamed training. He expected nothing less. Bruce had been the most accomplished member of the League of Shadows before he defected, of course he had trained her in the basics. She held herself quite still and straight, and her every action was methodical, planned, and unwavering. Her gaze was firm and steady when she examined her surroundings, which she did frequently. She appeared almost uncomfortable with them.

Barsad knew for a fact that he would not be able to approach Mason with Bruce protectively hovering over her. He knew he had to wait until she was alone. He continued to watch her as she interacted with the guests, greeting them with Bruce by her side as duel hosts. He sneered at her fake charm and smiles, watched the people fawn over her, completely enamored by her. He watched some of the older men sneaking extra glances at her when Bruce and their wives weren't looking. Disgusting.

Bruce looked down at the girl and whispered something to her before reassuringly rubbing her exposed shoulder and turning to walk away. Barsad knew this was his chance, knew he needed to get to her first before she was swarmed by her waiting admirers. Mason glanced around the room briefly, the smile gone from her face before she retreated to the bar to refill her drink. Barsad jumped into action and approached her with purpose, his face expressionless. As he neared her, he changed his features to look more charming and amenable to her.

He slowed his pace as he came up behind her, his eyes roaming down her back and closed the distance between them to stand next to her. She didn't realize his presence or acknowledge him at first as she delicately grasped a glass of champagne. He looked intently at her. His gaze bore into her, and she turned her head slightly to the side to look at him. A small, but polite small graced her features, figuring he was just another guest to be greeted.

"Enjoying the party, Ms. Mason?" Barsad's south African accent so low that only she could hear him, intimate in tone to grab her attention. Her big blue eyes looked up at him, trained on his icy blue ones. Had he been any other man, the sight would have floored him. From a distance, she was beautiful. Up close, Barsad could not deny that she was simply breathtaking. He could understand why everyone appeared to fall in love with her, and he hated himself deeply for those appreciative thoughts towards her, struggling to keep his face warm.

"Yes, very much," she lied, "how do you like it?" her breathy voice was soft and polite, playing the ever attentive host.

He maintained his small crooked smile. "It's very nice, thank you for having me."

They remained standing together, apart from everyone else looking at the other. Barsad's imposing presence seemed to ward off her admirers as they stood some distance away eyeballing him with envy. When she wasn't looking, he shot them a sardonic smirk. She fully turned to face him, but still held a certain distance between them. He watched her quickly glance over him, her bright blue eyes flashing momentarily before turning her face up to smile at him again. He despised the feeling that came over him, that he actually enjoyed her approving appraisal of his structure.

"You know my name, but I haven't had the same pleasure," she extended her small petite hand out towards him.

"Barsad," his reply was too quick and thoughtless, his mind catching the mistake instantly that he gave her his real name instead of a fabricated one. He took her hand gently and lifted it up, kissing her soft skin. Her eyes widened in surprise before her fake cheeriness was placed back on her face. He wanted to darkly smirk at her, thinking of the ways she would be abused in the future, her beauty and spirit tarnished, but held back the fierce desire. She slowly pulled her hand back, her eyes glancing around in barely noticeable discomfort. Internally, he enjoyed her subconscious show of fear and discomfort, appreciating that on some level she could sense danger when it got too close, even if she had trouble identifying the source of it. She clearly didn't attribute it to him, and that was her mistake, her undoing.

The string quartet began playing another song, and Barsad realized it was the perfect opportunity to continue to remain close to her. He couldn't have her flitting off to find Bruce.

"Please," he implored, "give me the pleasure of this dance." He saw her shiver briefly, then nod her head slightly in acceptance as she placed her glass back down on the table. She allowed him to take her hand and lead her to the middle of the room amongst the other couples waltzing about. He turned around towards her and pulled her against him, a gasp coming from her because of the close contact. He placed his hand low on her back and felt a shiver run through her again. Under his hand, her skin was smoother and softer than he previously thought. She even smelled delicious, he thought, like vanilla and sweet spices. His body was reacting toward her without his permission, and he resented her, his hatred toward to woman growing by the second. Mason was looking eye level at his chest and was beginning to relax into his touch, her muscles loosing their tension. He looked down at her dark hair, standing a good distance taller than her. Again, she must have felt his stare. She slowly pulled her face from looking at his chest and gazed up at him with her big blue innocent eyes and long dark lashes.

He noticed for the first time light freckles splayed across her face and face and thought how much they fit perfectly on her complexion. He damned his thoughts, cursed himself to hell. But he locked his ice blue eyes on hers and offered her a small crooked smile. She seemed to hesitate before she hit him with a small, but genuine smile back, possibly the only one she had given all night, and it ran through his body. She is soft, he thought. She isn't all training, she isn't impossibly guarded. There were holes, and she could be broken with the right tactics. He darkly smiled inside at the thought of taking this beautiful, fake woman down to hell.

She remained with Barsad throughout the rest of the night, much to the displeasure of a few men in the room, resentful of his constant presence at her side, and her unwavering attention towards him. She appeared to enjoy him as she warmed to him. There conversation grew less forced and more easy and deep. She was letting her guard down towards him, and it pleased him greatly.

He had gathered all the information he had needed about her. His mind demanded that he leave immediately, escape this cursed woman who did funny things to him. But his body refused to cooperate and stayed with her, constantly admiring her and damning himself at the same time for it. He was furious with himself when he left and gently kissed her cheek.

XXXX

Mason laid in bed that night, her mind running over the events that took place. When she first looked at him, she had to hide her awe. His icy eyes had entranced her, almost hypnotized her. She had never had that happen before, romantic interests and notions always being something she stayed away from. She sighed in frustration. Barsad has grown on her quickly, and she had been drawn to him all night. They seemed in their own world, ignoring the others and talking in their own private conversation. She couldn't deny the pull she felt towards him, which he seemed to reciprocate with his own banter and smiles that seemed to make her a puddle at his feet. He had held her apt attention all night as she realized she wanted to know him better than what politeness would have allowed.

She had to catch her breath when he kissed her, his lips seeming to linger on her skin. She was sad to see him go, but happy at the same time because the effect he had over her scared her a little bit. However, as she drifted off to sleep, she only heard accents and saw ice blue eyes.

The next morning, she was down in the kitchen again with Bruce as he ate his breakfast. He kept eyeing her occasionally, smiling when he did it. It was starting to bug her. She saw him out of the corner of her eye as she sporadically drifted in and out of her daydreams about Barsad.

"What are you thinking about?" Bruce asked with a coy smile on his face, knowing the answer to his own question already, but enjoying the game too much to give in.

"Nothing," she quickly lied.

He smiled wider at her before looking down at his empty plate with silent laughter. "It couldn't be about your apt admirer last night, could it?"

Mason blushed deeply, her skin hot, making his laughter audible. She looked at him, her blue eyes wide with embarrassment, her mouth in the shape of an O. She smacked him playfully and let out an exasperated breath. "That's not funny!" she practically shouted at him, embarrassment flooding her system.

He continued, relentless. "You two seemed to be in a world of your own. I think Mason might have a crush. What do you think Alfred?" Bruce asked as he looked up at the butler, "Does Mason have a crush?" His laughter rang out in the room.

Mason's blush darkened even more, and she let out a riled up sound lacked with frustration at his poking.

"They did seem cozy, Master Wayne. I will say that I have never seen Ms. Mason so enraptured with a gentleman before," Alfred's British accent taking on a joking tone. She scrunched her face in embarrassment over the whole topic of conversation. Bruce hadn't stopped his hearty laughter, giving her a solid pat on the back. She shimmed away from it, making him laugh harder.

Gradually, the laughter ceased, and he became more serious. "It's okay to open up to other people, Mason. You looked happy last night, it pleased me to see it."

Her face looked contemplative for a second before she dropped her head and stared at her coffee.

"Doesn't matter. I doubt I'll ever see him again anyways."

XXXX

"The mission was successful, sir." Barsad stood behind Bane as he remained seated at his desk. Bane nodded his head at the statement.

"And what have you learned about the girl?" his mask hissed.

"She's trained, quite possibly more than we originally thought. She's not exactly trusting of her surroundings, aware of them to an almost analytical degree, She's very guarded, but it can be broken down easily."

"By you," Bane replied casually.

Barsad remained silent, thinking about her briefly. "I was able to stay by her the majority of the night, she warms up with a little bit of work."

"Is she as beautiful as the pictures lead us to believe?" Bane's amusement was obvious, and he did not attempt to conceal it at all. He had noticed Barsad's hidden statement and obvious discomfort about talking about the young woman.

Barsad looked to Bane's cork board at the picture he had pinned of her on it next to Bruce's, examining the perfect lines of her face and her following hair. Her smile was real in that picture, and it truly was beautiful.

He tore his eyes away from it and composed himself. "More so," his tone indifferent and cold.

"She trusts you?" Bane asked.

"I believe so."

Bane darkly laughed.

"Bruce is extremely protective of her," Barsad continued. "He loves her."

"Good," Bane drawled, finally standing up from the chair to face Barsad. "We will take the girl from her home when he is not there. He won't know which way to look for her, as desperate as his attempts will be. And her absence will destroy him."

"What will we do with her?" Barsad masked his curiousity with his coldness.

Bane raised an eyebrow at him, analyzing his face for emotion and finding nothing.

"We will bring her here," his voice lifting, "we will hold her here while Bruce rips the city apart to find her. And when he approaches me, we will show him his ultimate failure. That he could not protect his own daughter."

Barsad looked contemplative. "She will need guards, more than one," as he thought back to her beauty, knowing it would bring the dangerous attention of the soliders to her.

"Or one. You," Bane replied cooly. Bane looked up at the ceiling briefly before looking back down to Barsad's surprised face. "What better way to torture her than to have the very man she opened up to deliver her treatment."

Barsad shuddered at the thought of being near her constantly and reacted violently inside himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Mason walked around the backyard of the mansion, smiling occasionally at the guests who had attended the party for Harvey Dent Day. She moved between the groups of people, stopping sometimes to engage in idle chit-chat. She was uncomfortable as usually, especially without Bruce by her side, but she hid it well. She missed the reassuring pats of her father, but he had decided to remain indoors for the night. He was starting to become a recluse.

Mason wore a tight black dress that night, reaching down to just above her knees and a pair of simple black heels. Her hair flowed down her back in dark waves and framed around her heart-shaped face, making her blue eyes pop even more. She walked up to the food table, looking down for a moment of silent reprieve from the duties of a host. She tensed up when she heard a familiar voice.

"Hello my dear. How are you this lovely evening?" a feminine and lightly accented voice broke through the silence.

Mason turned around slowly, a pleasant smile plastered on her face and looked at the woman she recognized immediately from walking around Wayne Enterprises.

"Ms. Tate," she responded softly. "I'm fine. And you?" Mason watched uncomfortably as Miranda eyed her from head to toe, finally looking into her blue eyes.

"You look lovely tonight, Mason," Miranda replied, ignoring her question. Mason saw Miranda's eyes change to a more calculating look, which chilled her. Unbeknowst to Mason, Miranda, Talia, knew full well what Bane had in store for the lovely young woman. She also knew of the part that Barsad would play in it. She pitied the young girl to a small degree, but Talia was colder than ice and would follow through with the cause until the end, not matter what it took or who she took down in the process. Including this lovely creature in front of her.

"Thank you, you do too," Mason replied, feeling her guarded walls rising higher in the presence of the older woman.

"Where is your father tonight?"

"Oh, he's not feeling well," she replied shortly.

Talia nodded in feigned understanding. "Please do give him my best wishes," a coy smile playing on her lips as she nodded again at Mason and excused herself.

Mason watched her retreating form and exhaled sharply, not even realizing she had been holding her breath. Something about that woman just didn't sit right with her. Mason shivered remembering the cold look in Miranda's eyes. She forced her mind to drift in a different direction. She thought of ice blue eyes and accents. She frowned slightly. She hadn't seen him at any events in two months, hadn't heard from him in two damn months. It seemed that her view that she would never see him again was coming true. Although she had predicted it aloud, it didn't make her feel any better. She had opened up to him, and then he had just disappeared.

She turned back around to the table and looked down, escaping the smiling faces that she simply did not have the energy to return the smiles. She took several deep breaths, clearing her mind and forcing her body to relax. She internally chanted words of encouragement to herself to get through the rest of the night and closed her eyes tightly for a moment. In a small gesture, she shook her head and rolled her shoulders before straightening up and turning around.

Turning around to look directly at him. She was unable to control the gasp that left her mouth or the look of surprise on her face as she froze under his intense icy blue stare. His face contained nothing but seriousness as she watched him obviously drink her in. A look of appreciation crossed his features as he returned his gaze back to her face, a light smirk gracing his mouth.

Mason looked at his face, saying nothing as she stood there under the weight of his stare. He had seemed gentler the last time she had seen him. Now, she thought, he looked at her almost as if he was starved and extremely hungry. Her breathing escalated, her interest peaked as her body rolled with electricity at his presence.

"Hi," his accented voice melodically floated around her, breaking the silence and her trance.

"Hi," she replied, feeling out of breath, the greeting coming out low and accidentally sultry from her lips. His eyes seemed to flash at her after she spoke.

XXXX

He stood still before her, drinking her form in deeply. Two months had passed since he last saw her. Much to his dismay, he thought of her often, replaying her features and voice in his head. He felt anxious in those moments to see her. And he hated it. He hated her. He hated her for making him feel anything about her. So brief pleasure was quickly stomped out by festering hatred.

So when Bane told Barsad that he was going above ground to play with her again, building her trust before he would shatter it, he felt relieved and anger at the same time. He didn't want to see the dangerous siren floating about in his mind, tempting and torturing him. He wanted distance, he wanted the unwanted emotions gone. But still, a part of him was simply to anxious to see her again and her big blue eyes.

When he approached her at the party, her back was turned to him. He stopped behind her, waiting impatiently for her to turn around. When she did, she smirked darkly at her surprised reaction. He openly drank her in, wanting her to know he was doing it. He repressed his urge to touch her, maintaining his distance as he let the small part of him anxious to see her, see her. When he looked at her face finally, he almost drowned in her eyes. His hatred began to rise, his body tensing for the kill before he methodically forced his body to appear relaxed. Her breathy voice ripped through him, making him stare at her somewhat fiercely.

Relax, he mentally commanded his body, reminding himself that he was here to further gain her trust, not scare her to death. Yet.

He gave her a forced gentle smile, which seemed to relax her a little. Her eyes still held a perplexed look in them. She broke their stare, looking away and biting her lip softly and nervously clutching her hands. He used to opportunity to both mentally groan at the gesture and to look at her body thoroughly again, allowing himself another moment to indulge.

True to his memory, she was breathtaking. Her black dress clung in all the right places, exposing more of her creamy skin. Her hair was down tonight hanging in never-ending dark brown waves. He slapped himself internally at the thought that he wanted to tangle his hands in it. And her face was just as beautiful as he remembered it to be. Enough, he thought fiercely. Get back to the mission. He refocused.

"You look beautiful tonight," his voice low and deep, seeming to purr through Mason's body. She looked back at him, giving him a shy smile before looking down at her hands.

"Thank you," her reply was sweet and soft. Her voice made him want to kill her in that moment, his eyes glaring into the top of her head.

"Where's your father?" he forced his tone to remain more kind than his thoughts.

She looked up at him, forcing him to splay a small smile on his face as he looked down at her.

"He's not feeling well, so he stayed in," giving him the same lie she gave Miranda. Barsad nodded and looked around briefly. He scanned the area and nodded in recognition that no one would notice them. He looked back down at her and moved closer. He leaned down, her silky hair brushing the side of his face, and he involuntarily inhaled it in. Vanilla and sweet spices flooded his system and curled warmly inside his body.

"Come with me," he whispered low in her ear, his hand gently resting on her hip. Mason was holding her breath and exhaled sharply before she hesitantly nodded her head. He reached and took her hand leading her away from the lights of the party.

He walked with her around the mansion and into the darkness where no one would see them before he released her hand. He turned to look at her with pure intensity in his eyes. She nervously fidgeted under his stare and looked back at him with an innocent and confused face, her eyes questioning him silently.

Exasperated with the fact that his mission was pulling him in a direction that he desperately wanted to avoid, he rubbed his hands over his face before staring at her again. Begrudingly accepting his situation and his orders, he pushed his mind in the proper direction.

What he said next shocked both of them. Barsad hadn't meant to say it. "I have waited a long time for you." The statement had intensity to it. His eyes flashed at her, his face becoming emotionless as he stared at her. Her heard her inhale deeply, her face shining with unbridled surprise, her bright blue eyes wide. She was shocked into silence, the look on his face making her squirm underneath the weight of his gaze.

He fought a hard battle inside himself. He could end her right now. He could end the hold she had on him. Slowly, he walked towards her, stalking her. She moved a step back for every step he took towards her until she felt the bricks of the house against her back. She was trapped. She maintained his stare, her instincts and training screaming at her to find the danger and never let it out of your sight. And under his stare, she felt that he truly was dangerous to her in that moment. Her breathing increased as he got closer until he stood directly in front of her, only a few inches of space separating them.

He looked down at her, his eyes much darker and looking deeply into hers. Kill her, he thought murderously. Fuck the plan, fuck the orders. She was threatening to destroy everything he was. So he needed to destroy her first. Mason's chest heaved up and down at the closeness, noting his heavy breathing too. His fury rose the more he looked down at her, hating every minute that he looked at her, struggling to control the urge to kill her, struggling to control his unwanted emotions. The last straw for him, the last thing he thought before his mind went blank, was the realization that his earlier statement to her was true and carried more meaning than she could ever realize.

Rage welled inside him, and he roughly tangled his hands in her hair, keeping her face angled up towards him. One quick movement, and he could snap her neck and be done with it. He crushed his lips on hers instead. She gasped against his mouth, and he quickly pushed his tongue in her mouth, involuntarily groaning at her sweet taste. He forced himself to move slowly, his desire to move away from her growing stronger, but not as strong as his lust. Still in shock, Mason remained motionless and surprised at his advance. He bit her bottom lip hard, and she let out a breathy moan. Encouraged, he pushed himself into her mouth again, this time Mason responding.

Barsad was starting to become overwhelmed by her, intoxicated by her. His mind was getting more foggy the deeper his mouth pushed into hers, her moans both exciting him and making his hands grasp her tighter, fueled by his rage at how much he wanted her. He felt her place her tiny hands on his chest and grip his jacket. She clenched and released her hands in tune with the pleasure he made her feel. Returning his earlier gesture, she gently bit his bottom lip. His groan was automatic as he felt himself growing painfully below.

He became more frenzied in his kiss, greedily sucking her in, not able to get enough. He broke from the original plan he formulated to just tease her, unable to control himself anymore, and his body closed the distance and forcefully pushed against her shoving her against the wall harder. He rubbed his groin against her roughly, her loud moan ripping down his spine making him growl at her against her mouth, his body grinding against her again. His hands rubbed down her body and stopped on her hips to grab them roughly. He yanked her lower half into him, forcing her to feel his hard erection. She gasped as she felt shock waves of pleasure move through her body. He lost it at that moment, feeling her tiny body on his cock, his mind and body giving into his most primal need.

Frantically, he reached down and grabbed her ass, rubbing against her, making her give a breathy moan into his mouth. He moved down to her neck, kissing and biting it desperately as he moved his hand underneath her thigh and hoisting it up around his waist, pushing her dress up her leg. He moved his body and pushed hard against her center, her heat burning and scorching his skin through his pants causing him to hiss into her neck as the lust he felt rocked through his body and pulsed in his cock, begging him to bury himself in her. He wanted her, every part of her, and he bit down hard on her neck as if to claim her. She cried out softly, and he thrust back against her again, her small hands clawing at his lower back, pushing him against her core harder.

He wanted to throw her down to the ground and mount her, take her roughly, the vision of it in his mind forcing him to push his dick harder into her, rubbing it against her in need. He snaked his hand down quickly between their bodies and roughly dragged his fingers across her panties. She squirmed at the feeling, an erotic sound leaving her mouth as she threw her head back. He growled deeply as he felt her wetness soaking through, pressing his fingers against her clit and rubbing in circles. She pushed her head down onto his shoulder and cried out as he moved his fingers faster. She breathed out his name, clawing at him. Biting down on her neck again in the same spot, he was sure he had left a mark. He needed to be inside her. He kept rubbing her, beginning to push harder, feeling her body tense up. He had to do it. He pushed his hand inside her panties and pressed his fingers against her making her moan desperately into his body. She started shaking as he pressed harder and moved faster.

He groaned loudly in frustration and rage as he ripped his body away from hers, the sudden loss of her heat leaving him cold. He looked at her heaving body with ferocity in his eyes. She was a wet dream standing there, post-orgasm, plumped limps, wide blue eyes, and tangled long hair from his hands. Her dress was still hiked up to reveal her creamy thigh to him. She was his siren, he cursed angrily. Everything about her lured him in, singing a song that would pull him to his death. She looked at him with a confused and wanting look.

He hated himself more in that moment than he ever had before. He hated that he wanted her so much, hated that she pulled out his desire and lust for her. He hated her, wanted to destroy her. His mind turned red with rage, all directed at her, causing a shiver to run through Mason's body at the murderous look in his eyes. Without a word to her, he abruptly turned and walked away, swearing to himself that he would never get that carried away with her again. That she was a project, only a project, and a soon-to-be prisoner, nothing more. Cold indifference flooded his eyes and face again, although it occasionally flickered as he tasted her in his mouth.


End file.
